


steal the air out of my lungs

by meggiewrites



Series: like a river runs [1]
Category: Men's Football RPF
Genre: (Meet-Ugly?), Alternate Universe - Non-Famous, FC Bayern München, FC Schalke 04, First Meetings, Hospitals, I can't write fic without anyone getting hurt I'm so sorry, Implied Relationships, M/M, Meet-Cute, Minor Injuries, they're all football fans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-05
Updated: 2017-06-05
Packaged: 2018-11-09 07:37:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11099964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meggiewrites/pseuds/meggiewrites
Summary: I was talking about something with my friends and in my agitation I accidentally elbowed you in the nose when you were walking past oh my god are you okayOr: Mats has had a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day. But maybe he'll get something good out of it, in the end.





	steal the air out of my lungs

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Bayermund](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bayermund/gifts), [temsah](https://archiveofourown.org/users/temsah/gifts).



> This is for temsah, whose birthday was last Friday, and bayermund – my two best friends in this fandom. Consider yourselves hugged ♥♥♥
> 
> As usual, a huge thank you to [Khalehla](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Khalehla) for the beta ♥ you're the best.

It was the first truly hot day of the year. The air was muggy and tasted like dust on his tongue, but Mats was too agitated to even notice it.

“I can’t believe they assigned Rob to do the feature! _Rob_ _!_ He’s been working here for not even half as long as I have. And what about experience?! God, I’ve been writing professionally since I’ve been at uni! But _no_ , I get stuck with game reports, while that pompous brat snatches the big-shot interview with the national team captain.”

On his right, Jonas let out a chuckle. “Jeez, Mats. Did throw this much of a tantrum in front of your boss too? If you did, you should be surprised haven’t been relegated to the fashion column yet.”

Mats huffed and purposefully ignored his traitor of a brother, letting his gaze skip over him in order to look at Thomas who was sporting a toothy grin, hands shoved into his pockets, the bright red of the jersey he was wearing almost blinding in the harsh sunlight.

“How about you, are you turning against me too?”

Thomas cackled, readjusting the sunglasses on his nose. (They made him look like an asshole, but of course no one ever listened to Mats, not even when he was giving genuine fashion advice.)

“I dunno mate, you might be over-exaggerating just a little bit. I mean, c’mon. You’ve been doing the reports for months now, and people seem to love your sense of humour and the originality you bring into the articles, but why not give this Rob guy a chance to make a name for himself?”

He was right, of course he was, but Mats still felt like throwing his arms up in exasperation. “But how in the world is that fair! Chances like that come around once in a lifetime. Do you have any idea what an assignment like that would mean for my career?!”

He only realized that he must have actually taken the ‘throwing his arms up’ part a bit too literally when he felt his left hand collide with something solid. Then that something let out a soft “ow,” and Mats couldn’t turn around quickly enough.

The guy who apparently had had the misfortune of walking past on his left was holding his nose. He was slightly shorter than Mats, so he must have hit him straight in the face.

Mats felt a bit of panic rising in his chest. First the troubles at the office, and now this. It wasn’t shaping up to be the peaceful game night he’d imagined when Thomas had asked him if he and Jonas wanted to make use of the two spare tickets he had.

“Oh my god are you okay?!” He probably sounded slightly hysterical, but even as he saw a bit of blood trickle through the guy’s fingers, he couldn’t help noticing the adorable mop of artfully messy hair.

“How about you apologize first?” The voice didn’t come from the guy himself, but from his companion, who was tall (taller than Mats), blond and currently scowling. If looks could kill … Mats gulped, turning to face his victim again.

Surprisingly, the guy only sniffed once before letting go of his nose and looking up at Mats. “Don’t worry, I’m alright. Have had worse, that’s for sure.”

His nose was still a bit bloody, but it didn’t look broken, and his face seemed friendly and open and not at all angry. Mats let out a breath of relief.

“I’m. I’m really sorry. I really didn’t see you there. I’m so sorry.”

Now, the guy let out a chuckle, and Mats felt his breath hitch as his eyes crinkled adorably at the edges. And oh god, he had freckles too.

“It’s nothing. Again, it’s hardly the first time someone elbowed me in the face. Especially not when we’re apparently supporting opposing teams.”

Mats blinked, only then noticing the blue jersey the guy was sporting. His friend’s was black, but still carried the same crest. S04, blue and white. Right, Bayern was playing Schalke today. Mats himself wasn’t wearing any fan gear, but the guy had probably judged by Thomas’ jersey and Jonas’ distinctively red scarf.

He let out a sigh, still so focused on the stranger’s face that he almost didn’t hear his brother and friend quietly laughing behind his back. (“This could only happen to him, I swear to god.”) Almost.

“Still. I’m truly sorry. I promise I didn’t hit you because of your club affinity or something like that. Does it still hurt?”

The guy waved it off with a smile. “I’m good. Don’t think about it.”

His friend let out a huff (and was that an eyeroll?) and then pointedly checked his watch. “We should really get going Benni, they open the doors soon.” With that he curtly turned around and walked in direction of the stadium.

“Sure, I’m coming.” The guy shot Mats one last apologetic smile. (Shouldn’t he be the one looking at him like that?) “Enjoy the game!”

“You don’t stand a chance!”

Mats threw a glare over his shoulder. Damn Thomas and his non-existent brain-to-mouth filter.

The stranger tilted his head, laughing, and it sounded like a chorus of light bells chiming. “That’s what you think!”

Mats stared after him, still almost frozen on the spot as he watched the blue jersey disappear in the crowd. He flinched as Jonas threw an arm over his shoulder; out of the corner of his eye he could see him shake his head, grinning from ear to ear. “Oh dear. You’ve got it bad, haven’t you?”

Instead of gracing him with a response, Mats just shrugged the arm off and took off in the same direction the two Schalke fans had just left, ignoring Thomas’ cackling.

  

The game itself was nothing much to look at. Already in the second minute, Bayern had scored and Schalke had equalized two minutes after that. Now both teams were struggling to actually develop their play in some way or another in order to turn the game around in their odds. Neither were really succeeding.

On his left, Thomas was loudly complaining to no-one in particular while Jonas just observed the game with his eyebrows furrowed, arms crossed in front of his chest.

Mats felt a bit out of place in midst of the cheering pulse of the fans, in his nondescript black t-shirt, fiddling with his phone, not really paying attention. He’d been coming to watch Bayern play since his family had moved to Munich when he was a kid. But he hasn’t been too impressed with the club these past few seasons, and was leaning more and more towards favouring Dortmund. So at this point, it was understandable that his thoughts were more preoccupied with his job, and that he regretted not asking the cute Schalker for his number.

Jonas must have noticed him brooding, seeing as he suddenly turned his head to face him. “You’re not actually still hung up on that guy, are you? You barely talked to him for a minute.”

Mats sighed, cursing his brother for knowing him this well. His chest felt heavy. “Honestly? I don’t know. Haven’t you ever felt like, an instant connection to someone?”

Jonas shrugged, picking at his shoelaces where he had his leg propped up. “I thought Amina was pretty cute when I first saw her. Certainly more beautiful than all the other girls in that class.”

“That’s not even it though. He just felt so familiar, in a way. As if I was talking to someone I’ve known for years.”

His brother managed a weak smile, patting his shoulder. “I think you’re a bit of a hopeless romantic. And that you should be glad if you ever find someone who puts up with you.” He avoided Mats’ retaliating slap by ducking away. “Although, admittedly he _did_ seemed very endeared by you. Especially for someone you’ve just hit square in the face.”

In that moment, Thomas, along with everyone around them, let out a yell and leapt from his seat, arms raised in victory.

Mats didn’t feel like celebrating.

  

At halftime, the scoreboard already showed 3:1, and Mats was glad to escape the buzzing crowd for a while, heading towards the food stalls a few moments before the big rush. Of course, he wasn’t the only one with that idea, so there was already a considerable queue once he reached them. He suppressed a groan, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his jeans and soon started bouncing on his heels.

He startled when someone tapped him on his shoulder, spinning around quickly only to be blinded by a wide smile and crinkled eyes.

“Hi again,” the cute Schalker said.

Mats blinked. “Isn’t the away block on the other side of the stadium?” he blurted out.

The other shrugged, “I had to go to the toilet about ten minutes ago. I guess I got lost.”

“Why didn’t you just go back to the game?”

“A few minutes before halftime? When I could get a head start on this queue?”

Mats felt a grin tug at his lips. “Yeah, I guess. Still not the best idea for you to mingle with the Reds.”

For that he just earned a careless shrug and another one of those breathtaking smiles. “Well, now I’ve got you to take care of me, so I should be fine. You owe me that much after earlier.”

Mats winced, even though the other looked more amused than anything else.

“Anyway, I’m Benedikt,” he chattered on, “Benni or Bene is fine though” and with that offered him a hand to shake.

Mats couldn’t help the full on grin as he took it. Benedikt had a nice handshake. Firm but not too strong; soft palms. “Mats. Nice to meet you. Even if,” – he pointed at where Benni’s nose was turning slightly purple – “it wasn’t all that nice for you.”

Benedikt laughed “You’re sweet enough to make up for it. All in all, I think Manu was more offended than I was hurt.” He leaned in conspiratorially “Back when we still played football ourselves he was a goalkeeper. You know how everything’s a matter of principles with them, so a Bayern fan hitting me in the face classifies as a major offence in his book.”

Mats made a face. “Actually, I’m leaning more towards Dortmund these days.” This startled a laugh out of the Schalker.

“Oh god, don’t let him hear that, or he will never let me talk to you ever again!”

“That bad?”

Benedikt nodded. “He grew up in Gelsenkirchen. Schalke born and raised, so to speak. But don’t worry, I don’t mind you being a bee.”

“I actually am too!” Mats blurted out, quickly trying to explain himself when Benni shot him a confused look. “A bumblebee, I mean. My last name is Hummels.”

Benedikt snorted. (How he managed that while still looking attractive Mats had no idea.) They grinned at each other, eyes twinkling, only brought out of it by a cough. The woman at the food stall gave them a impatient look. Somehow they’d made it to the front of the queue without even noticing.

“Did you want to order anything today, or …?”

After buying two and three beers and bratwursts respectively, they made their way back to their seats. Mats had agreed to show him the way back to the guest block and he couldn’t help noticing that both of them were deliberately slowing their steps, still chatting, making each other laugh again and again.

Mats sighed dramatically when the reached the top of the stairs. “I guess I have to leave you now.”

Benedikt nodded slowly. “I guess so.” He shuffled his feet. “Do you, um, would you maybe like to exchange numbers?”

Mats beamed at him, trying to fumble for his phone with his right hand – that was still holding the paper plate with the sausages – and felt his blood run cold when it slipped through his fingers.

He tried to grasp for it, dropping the sausages in the process. Then he only heard Benedikt's gasp when his foot slipped before his head hit the concrete.

  

“Mats, hey, can you hear me?”

Someone held his face, and his body ached as if he’d been run over by a bus. He tried to open his eyes, but the light was too bright and his head ached like crazy and he felt like throwing up so he closed them again immediately.

“Hey, no, Mats, look at me, look at me.”

Despite the tone the voice was soft, and he could feel someone – probably the same person – stroke his cheek gently.

He squinted his eyes open, trying to make out something. Everything was a bit blurry, but after a few moments he realized that someone was looking down at him.

The guy had blond hair falling into his face, freckles splattered all over his cheeks and nose (which looked slightly bruised) and his hazel eyes peered down at him concernedly.

Mats blinked again, and he had to wait for a bit until everything got less clouded and he could place his surroundings. There were people hurrying all around him, most of them dressed in blue or white. He seemed to be lying on the ground, there was a lot of noise, the floor was cold. The game. Halftime break. The Schalker. Benedikt.

“Bene,” he croaked out, trying to lift an arm to touch him. Suddenly someone else appeared in his field of view. A woman, maybe in her mid-thirties, in overalls, a caduceus symbol stitched on it.

“Sir? Don’t move if you don’t have to. You’re most likely concussed, hopefully it’s not worse than that. We already called a taxi for you, you need to go to the hospital to get checked.” She turned to face Benedikt. “Is someone else here with you?”

Benedikt hesitated for a minute, obviously distressed, slightly out of it as well, before nodding slowly. “My friend. And he,” – he pointed at Mats – “is here with two guys too.”

The paramedic nodded curtly. “You should inform them. I’m not allowed leave the stadium, but he can’t leave on his own. Someone needs to be with him at all times, make sure he doesn’t pass out again.” She stood up. “I’ll be right back, I’m gonna check if I can find a stretcher for him.”

Benedikt bit his lip but nodded, unconsciously stroking Mats’ hair before taking his phone out of his pocket and quickly typing a message before focusing his attention back on Mats.

“Hey.” He spoke softly, careful not to raise his voice too much. “Could you give me the number of one of the guys you’re here with?”

“Can’t you just … use my phone?” Mats managed to utter out. Everything hurt, and his head was spinning like crazy. His words were slurred, as if he’d had too much alcohol and a punch in the stomach.

Benedikt pulled a face, picking something up from the floor. The screen of Mats’ phone was completely shattered. “I couldn’t turn it back on.”

Mats groaned, and let out a soft cry when a flash of pain shot through him, but he somehow managed to dictate Jonas’ number through gritted teeth.

It took Benedikt a while to explain what happened and for Jonas to understand what was going on, too. When he hung up, he seemed even more shaken up.

“He’s your brother?”

Mats nodded, making himself feel dizzy again.

For the next few minutes, neither of them moved.The heat of the day had decreased by now, and small gusts of wind were blowing through the stadium. The game must have started back up again; Mats could hear the fans cheering and whistling and chanting, but it felt like it came from far away. He only then realized that his head was resting on Benedikt’s legs, who continuously carded his fingers through Mats’ curls. This somehow seemed to relieve at least a little bit of the pain.

Benedikt’s friend arrived first, and when he carefully sat down cross-legged next to them, he didn’t look all that intimidating anymore. The two of them quickly exchanged a few hushed sentences, and several times Mats caught the blond giant casting concerned glances in his direction.

Jonas and Thomas came running up to them only moments after, out of breath, the worry carved on their faces for everyone to see. Jonas dropped down by Mats’ side, immediately grasping for one of his hands.

“Hell, Mats. What the heck do you think you’re doing?” His voice broke, and Mats could feel the cold shadow the sound cast over his heart. He tried to crack a smile for him, but it didn’t really do much for cheering his brother up.

Thomas didn’t say anything at all, the crease on his forehead deep with worry. With a gulp, Mats realized what kind of picture he must have presented, how this most look to an outside observer, when someone of the likes of Thomas Müller was at a loss of words.

They must have seemed like quite an odd group. Five grown men, sitting or lying on the floor while the action happened down on the pitch. He wondered how it was that no one was paying them much attention.

The paramedic came back with a few more people and a stretcher later, but Mats couldn’t have told if it was minutes or hours that had passed. He felt like suddenly he was sitting in a taxi, his head lolling onto Jonas’ shoulder – with Benedikt on his other side, Thomas and Benedikt’s friend in the row behind them.

He didn’t properly get how they arrived at the hospital or loaded him back on the next stretcher either. Even the examinations passed by him like a blur of colours and impressions.

He didn’t know when he’d passed out again.

  

When he came round, he was in a hospital bed.

“Hey.” Jonas moved his chair closer to the bed. It made a squeaky sound that seemed to resonate like a blaring cry in Mats’ mind, but he was almost relieved when he realized that it didn’t make him want to throw up. “You okay?” Jonas asked.

Mats nodded slowly. “I feel better. I think.” He did. His head still pounded, but it didn’t feel like it would explode soon anymore and the nausea still hadn’t made a comeback.

He looked around slowly, careful not to move his head too much. Sterile, nondescript white walls, a fan on the ceiling. The only colour in the room was provided by a potted plant on the windowsill. He doubted that it was a real plant. Rain was lashing against the window, and he flinched a bit when a lightning cut through the sky. It was already dark. How long had he been gone?

“Are the others still here?”

Jonas nodded, a smile on his lips.

“They said they couldn’t just leave me alone with you like this. Even the tall, stoic one didn’t want to leave, despite still grumbling about how he missed the rest of the game. I’m the only one allowed in here though, because I’m family. But you can ask them in yourselves, one by one, if you want. Rescue your Schalker from Thomas’ endless bragging about the final score.”

Mats knew it would be futile to convince him that Benedikt wasn’t _his_ Schalker. He felt the blood rise to his cheeks when he imagined how they must have looked back at the stadium, his head resting on Benedikt’s lap, him caressing his head.

“Can you send him in? Benedikt, I mean?” he croaked.

Jonas grinned knowingly, and squeezed his hand one more time before getting up. Just before he reached the door, he turned back around once again.

“You know, I think you’re right. He might just be the one for you.”

  

Thomas smiled fondly as the Schalker entered the room at Jonas’ request. “Mats asked for you, Benedikt,” he’d said, and said Benedikt had beamed at him as if he was the sun.

Shortly after, Jonas left to talk to a doctor, and Thomas couldn’t resist peeping through the window in the door any longer. Benedikt had taken Mats’ hand, their fingers intertwined, both of them were smiling. Mats was laughing, before wincing and lifting a hand to press against his temple.

Thomas startled a bit when someone cleared their throat right next to his ear. For such a big guy, Benedikt’s friend was surprisingly good at sneaking up on people.

“They could be good for each other.”

Thomas tilted his head. “What do you mean?”

The guy shook his head gently. It was the first time Thomas had ever seen a smile making the way onto his lips. “I haven’t seen Benni so at ease with someone in ages; as though he’d known them for a long time. And your friend … he seems like he needs someone to take care of him every now and then.”

Thomas nodded, tentatively returning the smile. Something tugged in his stomach when the guy beamed back at him. “Mats could need someone keeping him from putting his foot in his mouth every once in awhile, that is true. Or taking care of him whenever he pulls a stunt like this.”

Benedikt’s friend bit his lip, glancing through the window again. “Benni would be good at that, I think.”

Thomas didn’t reply; they kept observing their friends for a moment longer before he gently nudged the taller man away, earning a quizzical glance.

“We should leave them their privacy, don’t you think?”

He was pretty sure he’d felt the other leaning into his touch as he received a wide-eyed nod as the answer. For the first time he realized how _pretty_ this giant of a man actually was. A crazy thought formed in his head.

“How about you and I go find out if they sell anything other than stale coffee in the cafeteria?”

Maybe, he pondered, Mats was not the only one who had found something tonight.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

>   * Bene totally asked Mats out on a date in the hospital, as an apology for (kinda) being the reason he got a concussion
>   * I've never been to the Allianz Arena, so all the logistics are vague and probably all over the place
>   * I've never had a concussion; I'm sorry if I portrayed it or how professionals handle it in a wrong way. Don't try this at home, folks. (Don't be too lazy to do your research, unlike me)
>   * I stole a line from my favorite fic writer, [ascience](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ascience/pseuds/ascience). Sorry, Frauke. 
>   * I'm not at all sorry about the ending. I couldn't resist.
>   * I write FICTION about real people. None of this is intended to harm them or their reputation in any way 
>   * Title from Bleachers' [Don't Take The Money](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_UTznjanFpc) which I listened to on repeat while writing this
> 

> 
> Leave kudos and comments if you liked it! / I'm on [tumblr](http://manuelmueller.tumblr.com/)


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